The Old Stoic (Emily Bronte Poem)
Riches I hold in light esteem, And love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream ...
Riches I hold in light esteem, And love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream ...
If grief for grief can touch thee, If answering woe for woe, If any truth can melt thee Come to ...
Here in the dark, O heart; Alone with the enduring Earth, and Night, And Silence, and the warm strange smell ...
I think if you had loved me when I wanted; If I'd looked up one day, and seen your eyes, ...
All in the town were still asleep, When the sun came up with a shout and a leap. In the ...
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede - Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to ...
I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have ...
I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars Did wander ...
Welcome, grinned Henry, welcome, fifty-one! I never cared for fifty, when nothing got done. The hospitals were fun in certain ...
With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly To lose herself in the ...
I. You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his ...
I DO confess thou art sae fair, I was been o'er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the ...
FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza's dwelling; O mem'ry! spare the cruel thoes Within my bosom swelling. Condemn'd ...
On Rabbi Kook's Street I walk without this good man-- A streiml he wore for prayer A silk top hat ...
O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above, I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and ...
FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, ...
O WHA will to Saint Stephen's House, To do our errands there, man? O wha will to Saint Stephen's House ...
OLD Winter, with his frosty beard, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: "What have I done of all the ...
WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn ! Let the cloud Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind, Then break against the rock, and show behind ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
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